Swindon - Drain Unblocking

“Right,” Frank muttered. “Let’s have a look at you.”

Silence. Then a low, guttural growl that seemed to come from the earth itself. drain unblocking swindon

“Just a compacted fat deposit, madam. Nasty one. But she’s flowing free now.” “Right,” Frank muttered

She paid him in cash—triple rate, plus a generous tip—and offered him a biscuit. He declined, citing a sudden desire for fresh air and daylight, even if both were currently in short supply. “Just a compacted fat deposit, madam

“It’s down there,” she whispered, pointing to the cellar steps.

The next morning, Swindon woke to sunshine. The drains ran clear. And Frank Duckworth, the bravest drain unblocker in Wiltshire, added a new line to his van’s sign, just below the motto:

Frank pulled out his listening stick—a long metal rod with a brass ear-cup—and pressed it to the cover. The music swelled. Beneath the folk song, he heard something else: a rhythmic scrape-scrape-scrape , like fingernails on slate.